Morning begins as an aria disguised as a tweedy man walking an Airedale who clearly approves of the man he tugs along with his leash. It continues with whimsy pretending to be a bus driver who always sees Mrs. Van Doren as a Manx cat and Mr. Furbush as a coconut scratching itself. It includes adroitness masked as Margery, who feeds Pepper through the fence, while he tries to crunch the carrot and bite her at the same time, one hind hoof cocked. He never succeeds (eyes rolling back). Fuss is there in wren feathers, and sharp concern watching the prices beeped up at Safeway. And also, swimming through the light, in a white-haired lady suit this time, comes the master player of the game, followed by curious children, sparrows, rabbits, and a dachshund, tapping each fence picket, fending off invasive shadows with an umbrella tip, quietly humming true things, the precise notes of powerful, redemptive songs, scattering flakes of brilliance, thinking, thinking, thinking.